GForce
by el spirito
Summary: One-shot based off the story Callen told in 'Keepin' It Real' about being in foster care. Rating for some language and violence, including child abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Callen had a bad feeling as soon as he stepped into the house. The social worker nudged him forward a bit when the 9 year old hesitated at the door, and he stumbled slightly, looking up with burning cheeks. A slightly balding, slightly overweight man stood there, looking at him critically.

"This the boy?" He asked the social worker, and Callen looked at the floor again. The social worker must have nodded, because the man sighed.

"He doesn't look like much, does he?" Callen shifted uncomfortably. He knew that he was skinny and short, but it wasn't really his fault, was it? The social worker squatted down in front of him, tilting his chin up gently to make eye contact.

"Listen to me, Callen, this is your new home, okay? This is Mr. Wilson. He has another foster son, Jason. He's at school right now, but he'll be home later today. Callen, you have to behave for Mr. Wilson, okay? He's a good man. He'll treat you right." Callen nodded, not taking his eyes off the floor. He hated this. He hated being moved around from house to house, new people all the time, some of them kind but naïve, others just plain mean.

The social worker squeezed his shoulder and stood. She exchanged a few words with Mr. Wilson then left. Callen remained where he was, body tense, trembling with minute shakes.

"What's your name, boy?" The man- Mr. Wilson- asked.

"Callen," Callen replied in a mumble.

"I expect you to look at me when I talk to you," Mr. Wilson said firmly. "And I want to know your whole name. Understand?" Callen nodded miserably, forcing his head up.

"G. Callen," he said in a vaguely louder voice.

"G? Your first name ain't 'G,' boy," Mr. Wilson said, and Callen winced inwardly as the man's stance shifted ever so slightly. The man was angry.

"I don't know what it stands for," Callen said quietly, and the man snorted.

"And isn't that just pathetic?" He laughed, and Callen could feel color rising in his face, fists clenching. "Well, 'G' isn't going to work for me. Your name's Honey now." Callen had to struggle to keep the grimace from surfacing to his face. He knew Wilson was baiting him, was purposely trying to humiliate him and get a reaction. He steeled himself, deciding that he would never, ever, give this man the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.

"Well Honey, your room's upstairs. You'll be sharing with Jason. The Mrs. Is out of town for a week and Jason will be back at 3:00 today. You can stay until your room until then." And then Wilson left, disappeared down a hallway and left Callen clutching his small backpack and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

He stood there for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to let the tears that were pricking at his eyelids to fall. He was no stranger to angry foster fathers, had become a master at hiding his emotions, at becoming whatever they wanted him to be. If Wilson wanted him to become "Honey"…that's what he would do. Callen could do this.

Slinging his backpack onto his shoulders, Callen trudged up the stairs, pausing in the dimly lit hallway to try and decide which room was the one he was supposed to go to. He felt nervous and anxious, staring at the closed doors and desperate not to pick the wrong one. Who knew what would happen to him if he ended up in Wilson's room? Cautiously, Callen forced a trembling hand to grip the first doorknob he came to, swallowing his fear and turning gently. The door creaked slightly and swung inward, and Callen was immensely relieved to find himself in what was clearly the right room.

Sparsely decorated, there were two twin beds against the wall, a small dresser and a single nightstand. There was one faintly wrinkled, slightly torn poster on the wall of a man in strange clothes, red and blue, swinging from a building. It read "The Amazing Spider-Man" beneath, and Callen frowned in uncertainty. He had no idea what a "Spider-Man" was, but he figured it couldn't be that cool if you had to wear a weird suit like the one this man was wearing.

Finally tearing his gaze away from the poster, Callen turned towards the beds. He studied them carefully, trying to decide which one belonged to Jason. Both were neatly made up with identical comforters and pillows, and Callen could see nothing on the nightstand to indicate that it was being used. Sighing, he dropped his backpack onto the floor, then curled up in the center of the room. The carpet was scratchy and smelled funny, but Callen couldn't find it in himself to care as he allowed the weariness and anxiety and emotion of the day wash over him until he finally fell asleep.

xxxx

"Hey. Hey, what are you doing on the floor?" Callen shifted slightly as he felt something nudging him and someone saying something. The nudging got more insistent and the voice got louder, so Callen finally blinked his eyes open. A boy was peering curiously at him, dark hair unkempt and a frown on his face. He had a threadbare coat on that his wrists peeked through, and Callen could see his little toe through a hole in the boy's shoe.

"I asked you why you're on the floor," the boy said, and Callen bolted upright. He'd been so careful, hadn't taken his bed, but he'd still managed to do something wrong. The boy backed up, hands raised.

"Take it easy. Just wanted to know why you couldn't sleep on a bed?" Callen shrugged.

"Didn't know which one was yours," he mumbled finally, looking at the ground. The boy stared at him curiously, then stuck a hand out.

"Name's Jason Fillmore. What's yours?" Callen nervously grasped the outstretched hand and shook it uncertainly.

"G. Callen," he answered quietly, wondering what Jason's reaction to it would be. The older boy looked thoughtful for a minute.

"G like the letter?" Callen nodded. "That's it?" Callen nodded again. Finally Jason laughed, throwing himself onto one of the beds (Callen made a mental note that it was the left-hand bed and vowed never to touch it) and looping his arms behind his head.

"That's pretty cool, G," he said, and Callen looked at him with confusion. "G could be for anything, you know? Like Gregory or Grant or…or G-Force." Callen actually giggled a bit at that one. He'd never really thought about it before, but his name really could stand for anything he wanted it to. G-Force. Jason sat up, staring intently at the younger boy.

"Listen G, we're brothers now, okay? I don't know how it's been in all the other piece of shit homes you've gone too, but in this home we're brothers. I'm going to look after you and not let anything bad happen, okay?" Callen was overwhelmed and blinked rapidly before taking a deep breath and trying to relax.

"You've got my back," he whispered finally, saying words he'd seen on TV once but had never, ever thought would be applicable to him. Jason chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so. And you've got mine, right G-Money?" Callen nodded with wide-eyes. He'd never had such a responsibility before and it seemed both exhilarating and scary. He wouldn't let Jason down. Not now, not ever.

xxxx

Time passed both slowly and quickly. Jason made good on his promise to protect Callen, getting into more than one fight with bullies at school and always winking at him when Wilson continued to address him as "Honey." He taught him how to play cards, how to spit, how to avoid Mr. Wilson on a bad day. School was difficult for Callen, and he found himself embarking on a daily battle with his homework. Jason tried to help, but he wasn't having the easiest time himself, and Wilson and his wife just ignored them, leaving Callen floundering with no support.

"G-Force, come here for a second," Jason said one day, watching as Callen struggled with his homework. Callen hopped off the bed and knelt next to Jason, who was crouched next to the closet. "Okay man, this is top secret, you with me?" Callen nodded seriously, wondering what secret was about to be divulged. Jason popped a loose floorboard up and pulled out a cigar box, revealing it with a flourish.

"This, my friend, is what makes life worth living," he announced, and Callen snorted. "What, you don't believe me?" Callen grinned mischievously and shook his head. Jason opened the top of the box, removing the contents with reverence.

"What are they?" Callen whispered, staring at the small colorful books.

"These are comics, G-Man. This is Spider-Man. And this, this is Iron Man." Jason handed one to Callen, who took it with care, peering intently at the cover. It was the same man as the poster.

"Why is he like that? Why is he called Spider-Man?"

"You're gonna have to read it to find out, G-Man." Callen paled.

"I can't read good, Jason," he said quietly, the shame clear in his tone.

"That's okay, Callen, I can help you," Jason said quickly, noting how Callen's eyes lit up. "I'm not the smartest kid around, but I can read comics. And you will too, just wait."

For the first time in his life, Callen had found a friend, someone willing to help him and work with him, someone who helped him read every night after dinner without fail, who made living with apathetic, negligent foster parents tolerable.

Until that night.

Looking back, Callen knew that he should have realized something was up when Mr. Wilson didn't immediately send him up to bed as soon as dinner was finished. He sent Jason, who exchanged a confused look with Callen before heading up the stairs, then took a long pull of what Callen soon realized was alcohol.

"Honey," he slurred loudly, waving Callen to his side. Callen walked slowly. He could hear the dishes clanking in the kitchen where Mrs. Wilson was cleaning up after dinner, heard the top step creak as Jason stepped onto the second floor, heard his own heart thudding in his ears.

"Yes, Mr. Wilson?" He asked, his voice shaky. He inwardly cursed himself for showing such weakness.

"You know that the state pays me for you?" Wilson slurred, and Callen nodded, staring wide-eyed at the floor. "I expect an answer, damn it!" Callen flinched as the bottle pounded the table.

"Y-yes, Mr. Wilson."

"Well, they don't pay me shit. Not near enough to take care of you and all your food and shit. Kind of screwy, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Wilson." Callen shrank back as Wilson stood up, lurching slightly. Abruptly, the man's hand flashed out, snapping Callen's head with a vicious backhand. Callen cried out and fell to the ground, sobbing loudly when Wilson pulled him up by the hair, flailing outwards in an attempt to dislodge the man's huge hand. He found his wrist held in an iron grip, screaming when he felt it twisted and snapped, an audible crack accompanying a nauseating wave of pain. Callen sobbed, unable to keep himself from retching down the front of Wilson's shirt. Wilson roared, releasing Callen's wrist only to again hit his face. Callen felt something warm trickle down his face, tasted a salty metal, sobbed as he desperately tried to scrabble backwards across the floor.

"You filthy piece of-" Wilson yelled, and Callen was prepared for the death blow, thought fleetingly that wherever death went, it couldn't be worse than here, when there was a loud cry of fury, and Callen saw Jason launch himself off the steps and onto Wilson's back. _Like Spider-Man_, Callen thought hazily, watching as Jason pulled Wilson's hair, scratched at his face.

"No!" Callen whispered, watching in horror as Wilson managed to get a hold on the kid on his back, flinging him from him and into a wall with a bellow of rage. Mrs. Wilson was yelling at her husband from the kitchen, screaming at him to stop, but Wilson just kept hitting Jason, over and over and over again, and all Callen could do was cower in the corner, sobbing quietly. He knew he had to do something, _anything _to stop Wilson, he had Jason's back, but he was scared and trembling and too cowardly to do anything. Jason had stopped moaning, had stopped fighting back. There was blood everywhere, on Wilson, on the wall, on Jason.

The police came, and an ambulance, and Callen watched numbly as they handcuffed Wilson and pulled a sheet over Jason, who was dead, who had died because Callen hadn't helped him. He didn't even notice as a medic gently helped him to the ambulance, helped settle him onto a gurney and prodded at his wrist, as people spoke soothing words to him.

G. Callen was all alone in the world, had failed his brother, would be shuffled off to yet another foster home. He stared at the ceiling of the ambulance, feeling tears trickle down his face, getting caught in his ears and hair, and willed the nightmare to end.


	2. Chapter 2

"G." Callen looked up, nodding his head as Hanna walked into the room. He held a coffee cup out to Callen, sipping his own, and sank into the couch across from him, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"Better not let Hetty see you do that," Callen noted with a smirk, taking a large gulp of coffee. "This is good. Thanks." Hanna nodded in acknowledgement. A silence feel over them, not uncomfortable, as both men sat in quiet contemplation.

"Rough case today," Hanna said finally, and Callen snorted.

"Yeah. You might say that." There was another lull.

"It wasn't your fault, G." Callen looked up from his coffee, one eyebrow raised.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, his tone cold and hard. Hanna held a hand up.

"Whatever happened back then, whatever that bastard did, it wasn't your fault." G stood abruptly, his lithe form tense.

"You don't know what happened. You have no idea what I let him do." Callen's tone was measured and calm and Sam could see the rage that was just under the surface.

"I don't have to know what happened," he said, keeping his tone level with Callen's. "I don't need to have been there to know that any sick bastard who hits on kids is wrong. I don't need to be there to know that a little boy shouldn't have to defend his brother from the man who was supposed to care for him." Callen was silent, still standing, but his stance had shifted into a more relaxed pose, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

"I- I umm, thanks," Callen said finally, giving Sam a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. Sam gave him a half-smile in return, watching with satisfaction as Callen fell back onto the couch and plopped his feet on the table next to Hanna's. They raised their cups to each other and drank, content.

"You boys better not have your feet on my table," a familiar voice said suddenly, and both men whipped their feet off the table at lightning speed. Hetty's head popped around the corner and she narrowed her eyes at them before disappearing again.

Callen and Hanna shared a smile and quietly put their feet back on the table.

xxxx

A/N: Okay, this is an epilogue asked for by Sweet Anonymity. Also, I just feel it necessary to let y'all know that my name's Hanna and my brother's name is Sam. Awesome, right?


End file.
